


speedbaking is not an olympic sport for good reasons

by wokeboke



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Baking, Gen, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASHE, I don't know how to bake pies please do not follow this, Unsafe baking practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 15:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wokeboke/pseuds/wokeboke
Summary: Annette is lying on her bed, perusing a textbook on tactical strategy at 11:42 PM for the next day’s class when she realizes that it’s 11:42 on the 16th of the Wyvern Moon and that in 18 minutes, it’ll be Ashe’s birthday.





	speedbaking is not an olympic sport for good reasons

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVVEN'T PLAYED 3H SO EVERYONE IS PROB WILDLY OOC BUT ASHE IS STILL BEST BOY SO PLEASE ACCEPT MY GARBAGE
> 
> this is a day late because Annette is actually me when my friend told me it was ashe's birthday at 11:42 pm on october 17

Annette is lying on her bed, perusing a textbook on tactical strategy at 11:42 PM for the next day’s class when she realizes that it’s 11:42 on the 16th of the Wyvern Moon and that in 18 minutes, it’ll be Ashe’s birthday.

The realization hits her like a hammer blow, and in an instant, she’s sprung up off her bed, textbook thrown aside, and grabs her apron and recipe book, hopping over to the door with growing franticness. No time for guilt in forgetting one of her friends’ birthdays—only time for ACTION.

She has 18—no, 17!—minutes to bake a cake, and by the Goddess, it’s going to be the best cake that her best friend has ever tasted! Her run throughout the quiet halls of the monastery slows to a brisk walk and she wonders if anyone else is up to help her, but Mercie is asleep, Dedue’s lights are out, Felix’s door is ajar but his light is out as well, Ingrid is probably asleep, and Dimitri’s door is closed. Annette giggles when soft snoring emanates from behind it. Sylvain’s light is on, but she _really_ does not want to know what he’s doing inside, and Ashe…well, that’s not even an option! Looks like she’ll be on solo baking duty tonight—but it won’t stop her from making the best cake that her best friend has ever tasted—

“Less thinking, more doing!” she whispers to herself, trying to psyche herself up. Three minutes have already passed—no matter! She can rise above the odds and come out successful on the other side!

The kitchens aren’t a long walk away from the dorms, and she makes it there in record time, barely breaking a sweat, thinking of how happy Ashe will be when she surprises him in the morning. She can’t help but smile at the thought, opening her recipe book to her tried-and-true cheesecake recipe, but stops mid-flip. Does she want to try something new for him? A quick glance at the clock reveals that she has 15 minutes left, and she decides—yes! 15 minutes is plenty of time to make something beautiful and tasty and new; she can do this.

There’s still the hurdle of deciding _what_ to make, though. She hunches over the countertop, putting together everything she knows about Ashe and comes away with the conclusion that he likes sweets.

“Well, that’s helpful,” she mutters, then straightens up. “Wait, that _is_ helpful!”

She turns towards the cupboards, already forming the beginnings of a plan. She’ll make something simple—a pie, with filling made of fruit from farther north, from where they both come from. It’s simple, it’s tasty, it’s _genius_!

The crust takes her less than 10 minutes; she could almost make one in her sleep. The only problem, she realizes after staring at her uncooled pie crust for half a second, is cooling it down. It usually takes about 40 minutes before being ready to use, but she simply does not have that kind of time on hand.

She wracks her brain for ideas—does she have any magic that would help? All she knows is meager wind magic and some healing spells. A seed of an idea plants itself in her mind—she remembers studying wind magic, how technically the way mages controlled ‘wind’ was by compressing air—and same amount of air molecules in smaller volume equals less space to move around equals lower temperature—

The crust is ready in half a minute. Flour is everywhere but it’s a small price to pay for delicious, flaky salvation.

6 minutes left; all that’s left to do is make the filling, then freeze it and bake the pie in the morning. She’ll use frozen Albinean berries, gathered from the garden a few days past. She would’ve preferred to use fresh fruit, but seeing as she has no way to stop time and visit the garden to harvest some, frozen will have to do.

Into a pot the ingredients go; berries, water, sugar, potato starch, lemon juice. With 5 minutes remaining, she can’t afford to wait for the stove to heat, she just needs something to kickstart the boiling; she mentally searches through her small spell list again—hadn’t Felix once told her that he felt feverish whenever she healed him?

Without hesitation, she concentrates on evoking a healing spell on something that doesn’t actually need to be healed. For a precious second, nothing happens…then one of the berries bursts, splattering juice all over the stove and on her apron. She jumps back with a yelp, quickly covering her mouth with a hand and glancing furtively at the hallway.

After no one appears, she allows herself to relax. This application of magic has some incredible implications that she can’t wait to tell Linhardt about, but that will have to wait. She concentrates on the whole pot instead of an individual berry like she did last time, and before long, steam starts to rise from her concoction.

“Yes!” She quietly does a fist pump, ready to grab her spoon and start mixing when—

“Annette?”

A soft voice comes from behind her, and she whips around, heart rising in her chest. It’s the only person she does and doesn’t want to see at the same time, rubbing sleep from his eyes and clutching a square book to his chest.

“Oh, hey! Ashe!” She smiles weakly, moving to block the stove from view. Too late, she remembers the pie crust just sitting on the counter.

Ashe spots it too, and he starts to cross over towards the sink, yawning. “Just wanted to get some water. Are you doing some late-night baking again?”

She tugs at a fray in her apron, willing herself to stay calm, stay nonchalant with only 3 minutes left on the clock. “Er, you could say that! Oh, Ashe, watch out—” she starts, seeing the loose flour all over the countertop now all over Ashe’s sleeves.

Shaking her head, she follows him to the sink as he unsuccessfully tries to shake it off. “Here, I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Annette,” he sighs. The flour comes off with some light swipes.

“No problem,” she says, itching to return to her craft. 2 minutes left—

“What are you cooking up, anyways?” His smile is so pure and he looks genuinely interested; Annette can’t possibly abandon this conversation now.

Unfortunately, answering that puts all of her plans astray.

“Um…” One and a half minutes. “It’s a pie!” That is true.

“Oh, wow!” His expression lights up. “Can I try some? If you’re okay with it, of course,” he adds hurriedly. “It smells so good; I’m surprised no one else has woken up! What’s it for?”

She can’t help but flush at the praise, even though she’s heard it so many times before, but also flush at what she’s about to say. The time is 11:59 and she knows when to admit defeat.

“Well…” She eyes the second hand on the clock, and just as it strikes 12, she grasps Ashe by the shoulders and smiles. “Happy birthday, Ashe.”

His mouth opens like a baby bird’s. It’s rather cute, Annette thinks. It was so worth it to make a pie at 12 AM, even if Ashe’s reaction is coming about nine hours early.

“This—this was for _me_?” he stammers, a blush colouring his cheeks. He looks suddenly so awkward, Annette can’t help but giggle.

“Of course it was, silly! I wanted to bake you the best pie in the world!”

As if on cue, the pot on the stove, long forgotten, explodes.

More than several washcloths and quite a few minutes later, the pair is seated at the table with a picture-perfect pie between the two of them. The only incriminating evidence of Annette’s thermomagical mishap is the dark-purple berry stains on their clothes, but other than that, the whole kitchen looks spick-and-span.

“So…” Ashe smiles shyly. “Shall we try it?”

“Birthday boy first!” Annette says, passing him the forks. “Baker’s orders!”

“Hey!” He pouts, but Annette knows it’s only for show. “I helped make it too, so technically, I’m a baker as well! And I say…” He slides one of the forks back across the table. “Let’s try it together.”

He’s too sweet, Annette thinks, and she accepts the fork. Ashe grins and they both stab into the crust together.

Conversely, the pie is just the right amount of sweet, and there’s no one more she would rather share it with.


End file.
